


Deeper by the Hour

by nusmag



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Bipolar Disorder, Caretaking, Evak - Freeform, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10067516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nusmag/pseuds/nusmag
Summary: Isak finds a poster on a bench in Olaf Ryes Plass. Among a phone number, a drawing of a guy, and the promised 500 kroner per week for the job, it reads:Even Bech Naesheim needs a support person and boyfriend.Isak would usually dismiss things like this, but something makes him google the name and…oh.Well. Eskildhasbeen going on about how Isak needs to be quicker in paying the rent.It’s not for anything else that Isak’s considering applying. And if he takes the poster with him so that no one else may find it, then so be it.





	1. tequila, haircuts, and other stereotypes

**Author's Note:**

> ahh so here i am, of course, because i can't not write for this show. first fic here, criticisms etc. much appreciated! and thank you for reading x

LØRDAG, 02:22

 

Mutual friends is what brought them to the bar. They were asked to come, each separately, otherwise Even would have probably done his best to avoid his ex, especially days after the breakup. They were asked to come for a night out but no one asked them to get shitfaced off Tequila; and not that they were shooting for the stereotype, but what else were they to do in their susceptible state, Friday night at the Tijuana bar?  
  
Even wasn’t going to get drunk but then he found himself in a complicated set of circumstances, like, the alcohol was _right there_ and Gabrielle came on…

 

How Sonja got drunk, he doesn’t know. But it’s nice to see that she is able to let loose too, and as she sits there next to him outside the bar at half three in the morning, he could almost see himself asking her that they forget the breakup. But he knows that it’s the inebriated part of his brain that’s suggesting that, and that he would greatly regret even mentioning their relationship after a good day’s sleep. He doesn’t need to fuck with Sonja now, when she doesn’t even seem that sad about the breakup. And before Even can inevitably spout out something stupid anyway, Sonja is there to save him, like always — but what she says makes him roll his eyes so far he’s certain they do a full 180.

 

“I can’t believe us,” she says first, and Even smiles, because he can’t either. But then Sonja goes on, using the opportunity to warn him in a drunken drawl, “You have to be careful, you know? I mean, about drinking. Another time, there won’t be anyone to take care of you.”  
  
Hence the eye-roll.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Even grumbles, and Sonja leans back against the wall of the bar.  
  
“I’m serious,” she says, drawing it out in a high-pitch, “I know how you feel about me saying it but, I worry about you. I just want someone to be there for you, ‘cause I can’t.”  
  
“Why not put out an ad?” Even says, grinning, “Even Bech Næsheim needs a new _girlfriend-slash-babysitter.”_  
  
Sonja laughs, jostles him with the side of her arm. But the laugh has a sad undertone and then she quiets, looking down at their feet. “It’s a fair warning. I don’t want you to get lonely.”  
  
It’s all too sincere suddenly, and Even can’t ask her if she worries that she might get lonely herself, can’t admit that she’s right — he does worry about it himself. He can’t let the night end on a sour note so he puts on a smile and says:  
  
“Give me your bag.”  
  
Sonja does, without question, because after all those years, she trusts him. And he knows that in her large Michael Kors, she’ll have her planner, which permanently resides in the bag, not leaving it even when they go clubbing.  
  
He finds it, and his fingers card through the pages, the scraps of paper stuck between them. This is one of Sonja’s most endearing qualities — she doesn’t believe in throwing blank paper away. Instead she folds scraps of unused paper and tucks them between the pages of her daily planner, for future purposes.  
  
And the future is now, when Even picks out a perfectly folded, blank A4 out of the notebook. He puts the notebook back into her bag, fishes out a pen, smoothes the paper out with his palm and starts inking.  
  
Sonja watches him curiously for a while, because she knows him, and just lets him get on with whatever he’s drawing.  
  
He’s drawing himself.  
  
Which she can tell, too, once he’s done, with the way she softly says: “Oh!”

 

“So,” Even says through a smile, looking at her before looking back down at the paper, “Here he is, for the taking. We need, of course, an incentive… 200 a week?”  
  
Sonja giggles, and he can hear the liquor in her laugh, which makes it all just a bit happier, because Even’s mind is fuzzy with alcohol too.  
  
“Make it 500,” she says, biting her lower lip as she struggles not to laugh at her joke, but ultimately fails when Even bursts out laughing.  
  
“Okay, okay,” he says, slow baritone taking on a teasing tone, “I see how it is.”  
  
“Mhm,” she says simply, and then laughs again.  
  
Sonja opens her hand, asking for the paper and pen, which Even graciously hands over.  
  
She puts the pen down and writes, all the white explaining it, “So far it’s just a picture of you and a price. We need to clear up just what it is we are offering here...”  
  
Even nods, like it’s the wisest thing he’s ever heard. “Agreed. Someone might think I’m a fugitive, or for rent…”  
  
Sonja smiles, holding the paper up in front of her face with both hands once she’s done.  
  
_“Even Bech Næsheim needs a support person and boyfriend,”_ Even reads, then scrunches his face up in a curious frown, “Boyfriend?”  
  
Sonja lowers the paper and sticks her face out, smiling. “No girl can replace me.”  
  
Even laughs, “Figures.”  
  
Sonja lowers the paper down, grinning at it, and Even pulls himself up closer to her, snakes an arm around her to take the pen from her hand, and then brings it back round. Smoothing the paper against her thigh, he rests the pen at a spot, ready to write something else in.  
  
“Thinking I’d give them a contact number, too,” Even says, shrugging. And like she knows what he’s thinking of doing, Sonja moves her leg and snatches the paper away, laughing as she says, “No, no no — _no.”_  
  
Even laughs too, and they’re laughing like never before, never having been so drunk together before.  
  
“Okay,” Even says, pacifying her, “I won’t put in your number. I’ll just give my _other mother’s_ number.”  
  
It’s Sonja’s turn to roll her eyes, but then she’s smiling, “Don’t try to say that I’m mothering you. Would a mother let you drink your sorrows away like this?”  
  
Even grins, writing the number down with half a mind as he mutters, “Not a good mother.”  
  
By the time Sonja’s done laughing, their makeshift poster is done, and Even presents it to Sonja, who looks it over and promises to keep it forever. It’s a good souvenir from a drunken night out after a breakup, and doing this feels more right than if they’d drunkenly hooked up one last time, which Even can’t say he hadn’t thought about. But it’s not going to happen. This is nicer. And also, Even adds out loud, if Sonja ever wonders how he’s doing, she can just call his _real_ mom and ask.  


“Let’s go somewhere,” Even says, and Sonja has learnt to become sceptical of that sentence. She raises her eyebrows curiously, and Even smiles. “Just a walk to the park. I’m tired of sitting here.”  
  
Sonja nods and picks up her bag, holding the paper in her other hand. She hooks one hand under the shoulder strap of the bag and the other under Even’s arm, and they walk over to the park.  
  
They have barely drunkenly staggered over to the park when Sonja untangles herself from Even and plops down onto the nearest bench, setting the poster down under her bag on it as she puts her foot up on the knee of her other leg.  
  
“Wait,” she says to Even, who is restless and wants to keep walking. “My heels are killing me,” she says, and goes to slip her stiletto off. She does the same with the other one, and she’s barely had the time to pick her shoes up by the heels when Even swoops in and picks _her_ up.

  
“Even!” she shrieks, but she’s laughing, and Even smiles as he carries her off, bridal-style, across to the centre of the park. Her bag is hanging off her elbow, still, and her shoes are in her hand, so Even drunkenly concludes she has all her belongings with her, thinking she had put the poster in her bag.

 

* * *

 

LØRDAG, 10:25  


With a warm cup of coffee in his hand and a fresh ‘do on his head, Isak makes his way across the park, under rustling treetops, to the nearest bench. It’s a cold, gloomy morning, and the park is barren. Just the way Isak likes it; though he is almost too lost in thought to enjoy it.  
  
Here’s what’s on his mind, along with silent prayers that there be no rain to disrupt his short respite in the park: he does _not_ care about his hair. If he spent a few minutes zoning out and staring at the big _FRISØR_ sign at the entrance to the salon thinking how it may be weird that he made sure to trek to Løkka to get his haircut at the place he knows he can get it cut right, then, well, it’s just that he comes there for the friendly and adept staff, the beautiful and warm interior of the salon, the cute hairdressers. The cute _girl_ hairdressers.  
  
Isak does not care about his hair, not even a little bit. He doesn’t bother to make an appointment at the salon — which, fuck, maybe he should, to be polite…? It’s just that he never needed to. His haircuts last minutes. He’s one of those “like last time” guys, and he goes to the salon where they know exactly what “like last time” means, and they get it done quickly.  
  
Before he can admit that he would, maybe, freak out a little if they did screw up his haircut, Isak happens upon a bench and finally sits himself down. With the determination to stop stressing about adhering or not adhering to _the stereotype,_ he takes a sip of his coffee and tries to force himself to think of something else.  
  
He’s almost there, almost ready to finally decide what to do with Vilde and that group of hers, when his gaze catches onto something in his near periphery, down on the bench next to him. There’s no other people in the park, yet there’s a face right there, next to Isak, albeit it is drawn in blue ink and crumpled slightly, sitting there in its A4 glory.

Isak does a double take before leaning over, closer to the piece of paper so that he can read it. There’s a caricature, quite unique in style, and one Isak has to say he likes, of a guy with swoopy hair. Underneath it, 500 kroner a week are offered for a job:

  
_Even Bech Næsheim needs a support person and boyfriend._  


Isak’s brow furrows as he leans in, perusing the proffered phone number which appears to be real, going by number of digits. The corner of his lips can’t help but to tilt up into a lopsided smile at the look of the poster, and he picks it up, smoothes it out with a hand, and sets his cup of coffee down next to his feet, taking a moment to note that it is there, trying to make himself remember not to knock it over once he gets up. With his now free hand, he pulls out his phone, turns the volume on _A Tribe Called Quest’s_ _“The Low End Theory”_ down to a low hum, and tries to concentrate on typing in the name, letter by careful letter.  
  
When neither Instagram nor Facebook yield any results, Isak’s sure that this is all a joke, and he should have known it was at first glance. Who puts out an ad for a job which includes being someone’s boyfriend in real life? Isn’t that like a mild form of prostitution, anyway?  
Not that Isak has anything against prostitution. And he _is_ a fool for seeing the word ‘boyfriend’ when pertaining to a guy — that much he can admit, at least to himself.  
  
When he googles the name in one last desperate attempt, Isak is vaguely looking to find a replica of the same ad, only in online form.  
What he finds is nothing like it. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen.  
  
Isak pauses his music when he clicks on the first link and finds a video.  
  
A dark-haired guy named Mikael is narrating it, getting ready to interview his best buddy. Once “best buddy” is in the frame, Isak has already paused the video and turned his phone horizontally, trying to think of more ways to enhance the image, to get a better look at that face.  
  
It’s the guy with the swoopy hair.

 

Even.

 

 _And fuck, is he beautiful._  
  
You can’t really see the swoopy hair because he’s wearing a hat but Isak is pretty sure it’s him, due to his name literally being there on the screen. Isak knows it’s hopeless, but he can’t help but hope that it’s a name and a face he’ll be more familiar with in the future.  
He sits there and watches the interview start to finish, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip every ten seconds or so. Even’s smile is something Isak is willing to rewind the video for a few times. He’s feeling a little giddy because the guys are amusing, and Even seems _different,_ and Isak can totally imagine him and the Mikael guy writing the exact poster he now holds for a lark.  
  
And maybe, even if Isak doesn’t get the job, he could still find a way to hang with these guys, because they seem cool. They are older than him, going by the fact that they were second years when the video was posted in 2014, which makes him feel a little bit like a first-year girl going after older guys just because they’re older, but he wouldn’t go after Even because of age or status. He wouldn’t go after Even in any sense, of course. But, if he had to go for Even because of something, it really _would_ be that smile.  
  
Carefully, Isak folds the poster up in half and tucks it between his fingers as he rips the earphone cord out of his phone. Soon he’s clumsily punching in the telephone number, the poster hanging between his fingers as he does so. Restless, he reseats himself, minding the coffee. Heart in his throat, not ready to think about the fact that he might be doing this, he brings the phone up to his nose and looks down at the little green call button, before locking his phone and stuffing the poster in the pocket of his hoodie along with it.  
  
He picks up his cup of coffee, and, forcing his thoughts back to Vilde or his English homework or the fact that he can watch Mikael’s interview in HD on his laptop once he is home, Isak makes his way to the tram stop. Earphones plugged in again and music on full blast, he waits, looking down at his feet.

 

He absolutely _cannot_ call Even. Or whose ever number’s on the poster. He’d only become the butt of the joke, or embarrass himself if it wasn’t a joke.

 

* * *

  
  
LØRDAG, 18:38

 

It’s one of those chilly, lonely Saturday afternoons, and Isak is on his bed, blush still freshly warm on his face from when he saw that interview in its full 1080p glory. He’s staring at the poster, and it’s still making him smile, because _what a concept._ It’s a joke. It has to be a joke.  
  
It’s a joke Isak wants part of.  
  
By seven, Isak has made a _pros and cons_ list on his phone:

 

Pros:

  * money
  * something to do



Cons:

  * embarrassment



 

The pros outweigh the cons, there’s twice as many of them. And there’s one more pro that Isak doesn’t write exactly because of that one con, and it’s:

  * Even



But even if he doesn’t write it, it’s still probably the most convincing one. Isak’s awful with his crushes like that.

After a laborious day of ruminating, Isak has made his decision. He takes his phone from where it sits on his pillow and dials the number. He calls and puts the phone to his ear quickly.  
  
His call gets accepted shortly, and it’s up to him to utter that first, breathless, “Hello?”  



	2. hey, hello, hi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the r&r, the kudos, the bookmarks, the everything. <3 It really keeps me going!  
> Hope you like this one and I apologise for any typos and such, usually I let it sit and then go about editing but I was just so eager to post this for you guys, so I didn't... (I know that's _wild_.)

 

LØRDAG, 19:23

 

“Hello?”

 

Isak gets the response in a voice that he knows isn’t Even’s, a voice he would assume isn’t Even’s even if he hadn’t familiarised himself with that nice, deep baritone already. Isak had, after all, been relying on that video of Mikael’s to thaw off boredom, every time it threatened to strike during the afternoon. So he’s pretty sure he would know Even’s voice when he heard it.

 

But this isn’t Mikael, either, and Isak doesn’t know if he would be able to tell apart Even and Mikael’s voices over the phone so soon after hearing them for the first time but — his point is, this is not even in the realm of Even or Mikael. It is the voice of an older lady.

 

“Hello?” she repeats, and Isak blinks to try to get his brain, and by extension, mouth, to work.

 

“Hello,” Isak repeats, and the lady takes on a stern tone, undoubtedly thinking some kids have called up to mess with her:

 

“Who is this?”

 

Isak brings a nervous hand up to his forehead, thinking there’s no option but to press on, really, even if he is suspecting that whoever made the poster may have just put a random number in. And now Isak’s harassing a stranger. _Nice._

 

Isak closes his eyes, squeezes out a: “I’m looking for, uh, Even?” He gulps and then rushes to add: “Bech Naes — Even Bech Naesheim.”

 

There’s a pause, one which probably lasts a second but which Isak feels is long enough for him to die and be reborn again into the same body and the same mortifying situation.

 

The lady’s voice is brighter when she speaks, and Isak almost sighs in relief.

 

“Oh,” she says, “But that still doesn’t answer my question…” She sounds a bit condescending, but in a voice that tells she means well, and a tone that says she knows Even. And hearing someone sober and not a laughing Even on the other end of the line does make Isak realise that maybe the poster was more real than he had ever imagined. What if Even really needs a support person in his life? Isak isn’t ready to think about whether or not he would be ready to take something serious on. It’s actually something he’s been effectively avoiding thinking about, because he wants part of whatever this is without the insecurity about being a capable candidate for the job, at least for now. What he thought would happen was that he would be the cool guy who makes Even laugh by calling him because of the poster, and then Even would fall in love with him on account of Isak being charming enough to actually call and offer to be a support person, under the guise of him doing it for the money — which would be charmingly laughable too, since Even could see right through it.  
Or, well. _Something_ like that… _Maybe not word for word...._  


“Oh, right, sorry —” Isak scrambles to say, “My name is Isak Valtersen.”  


He has so many questions, and he knows she does too, and before she could ask what he’s calling for, Isak tells her.  
  
“I’m calling about the job offer,” Isak says, and clears his throat.  
  
“The… job offer?” the lady asks, and Isak nods frantically though he knows she can’t see it.  
  
“Yeah, ehm—” he’s shaking his head, narrowing his eyes, as if physically racking his brain for an elaboration. “I found your poster, um, says right here, _Even Bech Næsheim needs a support person and -_ and, em... _boyfriend.”_

 

There’s a pause, and this time Isak doesn’t just imagine it to be long, because it is long.  


“I’m sorry,” she says, stuttering, “That - that’s how you got my number?”

 

“Yes,” Isak says, looking down when he continues, “I found the poster on Løkka, and the pay you were offering seemed good so…” Isak rambles to explain himself, though he has just effectively come out the person who he suspects is the mother of the guy he’s most recently doting on.

 

“So you thought to call?” she asks, incredulous.

 

Isak is stunned into speechlessness for a moment. “I, uh… I wanted to see if I could help.”

 

And he knows that the lady is judging him, probably thinking he’s the horniest, most despreate kid on the planet.

 

Which, Isak can admit, isn’t far from the truth.

 

“Or, if it was a joke —” he adds, “I mean… I was just curious.”

 

Silence. In fact, the other end of the line is quiet for so long that Isak _has_ to say something.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Yes, sorry,” the lady says, “Isak, was it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m Even’s mother,” she says, and Isak nods.

 

“Okay,” he says dumbly, just to say anything, because she sounds like she’s not done.

 

“I would like to meet with you to discuss the… job.”

 

Isak’s eyebrows shoot up til they’re met with the strap of his backwards hat. “Oh, I’m… Yeah, I mean, of course, of course.”  
The decision to meet doesn’t come as naturally as Isak may have made it sound — it’s only after the part of him that’s asking just what it is he was expecting if not exactly this has rendered the other, dumb part of him speechless that he finds that there’s no other option for him but to accept an interview for the job he presumably wants.

 

“Good,” Even’s mother says, sounding a little absent, voice audibly strained as she proceeds to give him the name of the café she wants them to meet at. “So I’ll see you then?” she asks when she’s done explaining where, when and how they will meet, and Isak confirms it, nodding eagerly.

  
“Yes, uh,” Isak says, “Thank you.”  
  
“Have a good evening, Isak,” she replies, “Oh, and could you bring that poster with you?”  


* * *

  
  
SØNDAG, 00:04  
  
Isak stays awake, perusing youtube for anything funny and a few guilty “how to get a guy to like you”/”know if a guy likes you” videos, as has been his routine for the past few days. The videos are mostly there to provide some background noise as he occasionally texts his friends in the _Chatten,_ or just lies there, thinking about his forthcoming job interview.  
Neither Magnus, Mahdi or Jonas are pleased with them staying home that Saturday, but none of them were really feeling like hanging out earlier, so Isak feels like them moaning about not being drunk or with a girl in that moment is more mandatory for them than anything. Maybe it’s even fun for them. In any case, he’s holding back real hard on teasing them about the fact that even if they were out, fat chance that any of them would hook up with a girl, anyway.  
  
Isak busies himself with texting them and browsing Instagram until sleep takes him, happily distracted from overthinking his meeting with Even’s mother, or worrying about if he is a fit candidate for the job.

* * *

  
  
SØNDAG, 13:45  
  
The worrying comes later, at about the time Isak wakes up. And while he thought that picking out something to wear before he went to sleep would have been a bit overkill, now he regrets not doing it. It takes him way longer than necessary to settle on the jeans and button-up shirt, which he deems professional-looking enough, and he smoothes his hair down a little at the end of his morning routine, because, well, _job interview._  
  
On his head he opts for the beanie, which he tries to keep in his mind to take off as soon as he’s at the cafe, to be polite. Isak pockets his keys, wallet, and the godforsaken poster, which he stares at for a good while until the absolute last minute he allows himself to stay in his room.  
  
He arrives at Deli de Luca on Torshov fifteen minutes earlier than he is supposed to. Even’s mother shows up on the exact second the clock strikes half three.  
  
Isak stands up when he recognises her from the brief description she’d given him — she has blond hair which is pulled up into a tight bun at the back of her head, is dressed in a borderaux suit and jacket and a silken, pink shirt. She looks serious and yet friendly, approachable, and even if the smile she gives Isak when she sees him is a little tight, there’s still crow’s feet around her eyes, the many _not forced_ smiles she shared with people in her lifetime having transformed her face into an amiable one.  
  
She gives him a little wave and goes to get herself a cup of coffee, and Isak sits back down as he waits for her. As soon as she starts walking over to their table, Isak is back on his feet.  
  
“Hello,” he says, when she’s close enough to the table he chose to sit at.  
  
“Hello, Isak,” she says, and her smile widens a little in amusement.  
  
They sit at the table, but Isak wants to crawl under it and never come out, because that little quirk of amusement in her smile is mortifying, because it’s like she knows exactly why Isak is here, why he’s taking his pursuit of Even to newer, more desperate levels, like meeting his mother.  
And it’s even more evident that she thinks Isak’s only doing this ‘cause he likes Even when she asks, “So, you know Even from before?”  
  
Isak doesn’t know anything about Even’s dating history, but he imagines it’s colorful, with the way he looks and the way he _is._ Someone that charming must have everyone falling at their feet, so much so that Even’s own mother is used to it, and is not even judging Isak for doing so, but can’t help but to be a little amused by it.  
  
And Isak isn’t technically lying when he says, no matter how vague it is, “Uh, yeah. Sort of — he goes to Elvebakken…?”  
  
Even’s mother doesn’t see anything strange with his answer and just nods, her bright blue eyes fixating on Isak’s when she follows it up with, “Do you know why he would need a… support person?”  
  
She omits the boyfriend part, and he doesn’t blame her. It doesn’t sound very serious and was probably added as a joke. Which is why Isak needs to let it go, already.  
  
Isak shakes his head.  
  
“He’s bipolar,” she says simply, “Do you know what that means?”  
  
Though it is a bit more reluctant this time with Isak being embarrassed about not knowing, Isak shakes his head again.  
  
Even’s mother nods and doesn’t look disappointed in him for not knowing. Isak has a very light grasp of what it is, and would rather not embarrass himself by pretending he knows and calling it a case of split personality or something equally inaccurate. And though Isak doesn’t have a good relationship with craziness in people, and doesn’t know if he would be able to take care of Even, he’s beginning to suspect that Even’s mother doesn’t see him as fit for that role anyway.  
  
Because instead of telling him what it means, she asks, “That aside, what did you think this job would entail?”  
  
Isak runs his fingers over the seam of his cardboard cup, busying his hands with something as he mutters, shrugging one shoulder, “I didn’t really think it was going to be a real job, but, if it was… I don’t know, I guess just someone to be there for him.”  
  
Even’s mother gives him a curt but understanding nod and asks to see the poster, which Isak takes out of his pocket quickly. Unfolding it, he hands it over to her and puts his hands in his lap as she watches her look at it. It’s quiet for a while, as she looks at it, and Isak does his best to give her some privacy by averting his eyes from her smile which is threatening to become tearful any second.  
  
“Even and his drawings…” she says fondly, and the way she looks down at the poster breaks Isak’s heart.

 

Isak thinks the drawing is really good, thinks of telling her that her son is a really good artist, but feels stupid when he thinks of voicing that opinion, so he keeps quiet.

  


“He didn’t even tell me he was gay…”  
  
Again, Isak keeps quiet, like he always tends to.

 

“Thank you for showing me this,” Even’s mother says, still smiling that sad smile which almost makes Isak’s chest hurt a little. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, no idea how Even is doing and how serious this is, but what he fears is that Even’s mother doesn’t know how Even is doing herself, when she says, “When he and Sonja broke up, he never told me why - didn’t even tell me that they did break up until Sonja told me. He’s just so distant, lately, and I try to… But he doesn’t want to let me in, I know it’s because he doesn’t want to be a burden, but, he doesn’t understand that he’s…”  
  
She doesn’t finish that sentence, too distraught, but by the tone of her voice Isak can infer the ending of that sentence. Even is her son, her everything.

  
That’s when Isak can keep quiet no more, and no matter how nervous he is to speak, there is an indescribably intense feeling spurring him on.  


“I’d like to help,” he squeezes out.

 

“No, no,” she says, shaking her head. She smiles at him as if touched by the offer, but again looks as if she’s being a little condescending, “I couldn’t possibly ask that of you. You’re so young, I could… I will get him professional help.” She presses her lips together in a tight smile and looks back down at the drawing, muttering, _“More_ professional help.”

  
Even’s mother smiles at him before looking down at the paper again. “He didn’t even tell me he was gay,” she repeats, incredulous but not angry, and Isak doesn’t know if he should respond to that, let alone what he should respond with.  
  
“You know what,” Even’s mother says, sounding resigned, “I think he really needs someone to be there for him. If he did this, I…”  
  
Isak is still speechless, and after a second of her looking down at the poster, she goes on:  
  
“I wish he’d just called me. Oh, Even…” she mutters, and then seems to shake herself out of it when she looks back up at Isak. “If you would like to try, I think… I think that he doesn’t need anymore _help,”_ she says. “Maybe he needs someone to…” she looks at Isak, and quoting him from earlier, in a silly voice which almost makes Isak laugh, “Be there for him.”  
  
Isak would feel offended, if he didn’t think the jab was justified. He did, in all honesty, come here with the intention of getting hired to _be there for someone._  
  
“I’ll give you his phone number,” she says, and his eyes widen. He does his best to keep from grinning like a goof, because it dawns on him she was serious when she said that Even might need someone to be there for him.  
  
“O-oh. Okay,” he says, expression brightening as he watches her take her phone out.  
  
“Have you got a phone with you?” she asks, and snapping out of it, Isak scrambles to take it out of his pocket.  
  
As she taps on her phone, she mutters, smiling: “Maybe that’s what he needs, just someone… like you.”  
  
Isak nods and pulls himself forward when she turns her phone around to show him Even’s number. He leans in attentively, putting his elbows on the table. Phone in both hands, he carefully but swiftly copies the number into his own phone, and saves it under Even’s name.  
  
“If you could just, see how he is, and let me know if he’s alright? Every time I ask him, he says he’s just fine, and I worry so much—”  
  
“Yeah,” Isak says, shrugging like it’s no problem, which it’s really not, actually. With a small smile, he adds, “That, um, that’s what I’m here for, I guess.”  
  
Even’s mother smiles up at him fondly, and then quickly adds, “I can’t offer you a steady job, depending on how it all goes over, but I will, of course, pay you. Would 500 a week be enough for you?”  
  
Isak feels guilty taking any money from her. But he has to remember that this is a job, that ultimately he has applied to work, and even if it is the easiest job in the world and one he would do for free, that doesn’t mean that these strangers would want him meddling into their personal business in some other way. And he’s fine with that. All Isak is going to do is work.  
  
“Yeah,” he breathes, “Thank you.”  
  
“No,” she says, standing up. She folds the poster up and takes it with her, and Isak has half a mind to ask if he can get it back, but doesn’t.

 

“And Isak,” she lingers by the table as he stands up, “I think what Even needs most is a friend. I don’t think he would appreciate me hiring someone to take care of him, so… Could you keep this between us?”

 

Although this catch to the entire deal makes it fairer in terms of being paid to do it because it makes it significantly harder, Isak can’t help but to feel bad about lying to Even like that.

 

Mouth dry and voice weak, Isak says, “Yeah.”

 

“Thank you,” Even’s mother says, and bids him a goodbye. He offers a weak “bye” back because she’s gone as quickly as she arrived, and Isak is left there in the cafe, clutching the phone that has Even’s number in it reverently.  
  
Isak sits in the cafe just zoning out for an additional fifteen minutes.  
  
He combs through his thoughts carefully, trying to find a way to phrase all of this to Even. He settles on texting him, but doesn’t text. Not until he can think of something coherent to text him.  


* * *

 

Hey.

 

 ~~Hey.~~ Hello.  
  
My name is ~~Isak and I got~~ Isak Valtersen and I found your poster-ad in Olaf Ryes Plass. ~~Your mother gave me your number~~  
  
~~Hello.~~  
My name is Isak Valtersen ~~and I~~ found your poster/ad in Olaf Ryes Plass. Wanted to call but ended up calling your mom, who gave me this number. ~~Wanted to text~~  
  
Hi.  
  
My name is Isak Valtersen, found your poster/ad in Olaf Ryes Plass. Wanted to call but ended up calling your mom, who gave me this number. ~~She seemed to like me so I was wondering if you might too~~  


_Hi._  
  
_My name is Isak Valtersen, found your poster/ad in Olaf Ryes Plass. Wanted to call but ended up calling your mom, who gave me this number. Does the job offer still stand?_  
  
After heavy editing and a good ten minutes of hesitation, Isak finally decides to just press send.  
  
Later that evening, he’s sitting on his bed with Eskild, and they’re watching Eskild’s latest obsession, a show called _Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency,_ which Isak has to admit isn’t all that bad. Eskild, however, isn’t as focused on the mysteries of the story as much as trying to make Isak see how gay the main characters are for each other.  
  
Which, yeah, Isak can see it. Or maybe Eskild is seeing what he wants to see, and so Isak is, too. Even if he doesn’t think himself as gay as Eskild, Isak could, in the words of the _gay test_ he made himself take: be a little straighter, if he knows what they mean.  
  
In any case, Isak isn’t giving the show the treatment it deserves, because in a true “could be a little straighter” fashion, he’s got his phone in his hand and though he knows it will vibrate if he gets a text, he keeps checking it anyway. Some time later, Linn joins them, and eventually abandons them again. They get popcorn and fizzy drinks and talk in between episodes and all the while, there’s no sign of Even.  
  
Even doesn’t reply until late in the evening when Eskild and Isak are about ready to start winding down, Eskild already half-asleep on Isak’s comforter.

 

Isak must make a face when the message arrives because as soon as Isak is done reading it, Eskild is upon him, asking: “Who is it?”, with the most shit-eating grin Isak has seen on his face to date.  
  
“Ehm — Sana,” Isak says, shaking his head, “no homework for tomorrow after all,” he says with a grin just as shit-eating, and Eskild nods.  
  
“Well, even so, it’s late,” Eskild says, getting up from the bed. “Goodnight, Isak.”  


He’s surprised at how easily Eskild lets it go, maybe he’s tired, because usually he would pester him just a bit more, and Isak would pretend like he doesn’t want to spill absolutely everything. Isak knows that he will have to tell both him and the rest of his friends _something_ about all of this. He won’t have to come out as soon, maybe, because it’s not really that gay. It’s not real — this is first and foremost, a job.  
But then again, as the true contradictory asshole he is, Isak wants the job to carry some actual _gay_ weight, because Even _is_ looking for a boyfriend, and Isak wouldn’t mind being that.

  
“Goodnight,” Isak says back, keeping eye contact with Eskild until he turns and exits the room, leaving Isak there with Netflix asking him if he wants to keep watching and Even asking him:  
  
_Hey. Nice to meet you, Isak._  
_Haha, can’t believe you found that!_ _You interested in the money or are you looking to work? :)_


End file.
